


Everything reminds me of you when I'm in love

by orphan_account



Category: Free!
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 11:49:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set sometime after Iwatobi. </p><p>Haruka and Makoto are going out. Everything reminds Makoto of Haru. He can hardly stop thinking about Haru. Haru Haru Haru. </p><p>Warning: sickly sweet domestic fluff, and a shit-ton of it.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>There was a boy at the daycare Makoto worked at who looked just like Haru. Right down to the eyes, deep and heavy-lidded.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything reminds me of you when I'm in love

  
  
There was a boy at the daycare Makoto worked at who looked just like Haru. Right down to the eyes, deep and heavy-lidded. He was a quiet kid, a stubborn kid. He didn't listen when he didn't want to. But he was also a smart kid, a talented kid, a kid who could do anything he really put his mind to. Naturally, Makoto had figured out a way to entice him into doing the activities with only a few gentle words. The boy reminded him of Haru so much he could barely stand it.  
  
His thoughts would build up all day at work. He'd imagine Haru's hands, his hair that always smelled like salt or chlorine or shampoo, the soft nape of his neck Makoto liked to kiss so much. He'd get lost in thought, sitting and watching the children color, and he wouldn't snap out of it until two or three of them were pulling at his arms and shirt, wanting to show him their work.  
  
The boy who looked like Haru never did that. He enjoyed being in his own corner, but would show Makoto his work without hesitation when he asked. And Makoto always made sure to ask, to smile encouragingly, to tell him he was doing a great job. And he always was; Makoto never had to lie.  
  
"Haru," Makoto said, sliding open the back door. He just wanted to touch Haru, to be near him. They'd been apart all day and Makoto hadn't been able to stop thinking about him. Ever since things had progressed (or maybe just shifted, Makoto thought, because they'd always been so close), he always felt like this. It felt like a fever, more intense than it ever had been. Seeing Haru would often make a warmth settle over his heart, yes, but lately it'd been like fire searing through his gut. His heart would speed up and his palms would sweat. He'd blush, of course, and hide it behind his hand because he wouldn't want Haru to see.  
  
One time Haru thought he was sick because of it. He held a hand to Makoto's forehead and Makoto could only squeeze his eyes shut and breathe through his nose. It wasn't normal to be so...to be so _aroused_ like this, with only one touch. It was Haru, after all.  
  
But it was _Haru_. And Makoto loved him with all his heart, even more than he used to, somehow. If hearts could grow larger to accommodate more room for these things, he thought, then surely his heart must have taken up his entire body.  
  
Haru was sitting on his bed, reading a book. It was a cookbook, Makoto realized, and smiled. Haru was planning for dinner tonight.  
  
"What are we going to make?" He asked, sitting next to him on the bed. They'd always had a safe distance between them, but lately Makoto felt himself needing to be closer than that. He had to have Haru's thigh touching his or their arms pressing against each other, or his hand in Haru's hand. It scared him a little, this feeling like falling. It wasn't like the same fear he held for the dark, or the fear he once held for the ocean. It wasn't like that at all.

This was different.  
  
"Makoto," Haru said. Makoto turned his head suddenly, eyes widening. Could he tell?  
  
"Hmm?" Makoto said. He moved his hand over to Haru's wrist, stroking the slender width of it, running his thumb over the protruding bone.  
  
"I said we're making udon," Haru said. He looked down at their hands, quietly observing Makoto's fingers.

“With mackerel?” Makoto asked distractedly. Haru’s fingers were so long. They were always cool, but warmed up quickly. He slid his palm over the back of Haru’s hand and ran his fingers over the backs of Haru’s fingers.

“With shiitake,” Haru said. His hand closed so Makoto’s palm was over his fist instead, balled over his thigh. Makoto sighed and turned towards him, their faces so close to each other. He smiled. He was just happy to be around Haru again. He tilted his head and kissed him, lips to lips, the same way he saw his parents doing sometimes, when they thought everyone was asleep.

Haru’s fist tightened. He kissed Makoto back, a slight frown of concentration on his face when Makoto pulled back.

“Haru,” Makoto whispered, his other hand coming up to Haru’s jaw. He was so cute. He kissed him deeply this time, parting Haru’s lips with his tongue, bending over him until Haru’s back hit the mattress. The book slipped out of Haru’s hands and hit the floor with a thud.

Haru wrapped his arms around Makoto’s neck and pulled him closer, a leg hooking into Makoto’s. Makoto felt his heart rush with all those feelings anew and he breathed deeply through his nose, pushing Haru into the blankets, gripping Haru’s sides tightly and pushing his thigh into his crotch. He kissed Haru’s nose, then his cheek. He kissed him under his eye, then under his jaw, then buried his face and sucked on his neck.

He thought about the boy who looked like Haru, but he already knew it would be weird to bring it up at a time like this. He could just imagine Haru’s reaction: a raised eyebrow, a skeptical look. He laughed to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Haru asked, his voice so quiet. Makoto loved him like this.

No; he loved him all the time. Every single second. He laced their fingers together and kissed the corner of Haru’s mouth.

“I was just thinking of something that happened today,” he said. He’d just tell Haru over dinner.

“I’m hard,” Haru complained.

Makoto chuckled. “Me too,” he said.

“Do something about it,” Haru said. “It’s your fault.”

Makoto laughed this time. “So rude, Haru,” he scolded, kissing his chin, then kissing down his chest, running his hand under Haru’s shirt, his thumb dipping into curves of muscle. He lay his head there for a moment, looking down. Haru’s shorts—ones he borrowed from Makoto—were thick in the middle. Makoto leaned down and put his mouth over it.

Haru jerked. His hand cupped the back of Makoto’s head. His other hand was still holding Makoto’s, and when Makoto looked up he saw that Haru had that little frown on his face again, pink cheeks, looking like he was almost pouting.

Makoto wanted a picture of that face. He smiled, and Haru understood, because he blushed deeper and looked away.

“There’s someone in my class who reminds me of you,” Makoto blurted. He hadn’t meant to do it. He just wanted to let Haru know. It felt like the right thing to say.

Haru raised an eyebrow.

“Not like that!” Makoto said. Feeling foolish, he put his mouth back over Haru’s dick, his tongue getting the fabric wet. He wanted to touch himself but he didn’t want to stop touching Haru. He ground himself into the mattress, closing his eyes and frowning in concentration as he sucked at the tip of Haru’s cock through his clothes. He could taste a faint hint of precum amongst all the fabric and sucked harder, moving the zipper aside, then giving up and pulling it down, unbuttoning Haru’s shorts.

He was familiar with the taste of Haru’s swimsuit. The first time he had tasted it was after practice, in the locker room, when he and Haru were high off the energy of winning their final relay. Makoto wouldn’t ever forget the pain of the linoleum against his knees when he dropped down to put Haru in his mouth, so desperate to feel him that he didn’t even bother peeling off the wet lycra. Haru’s cock tasted like chlorine and salt when he came, and Makoto swallowed it all, pressing his hips to his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. At the time what he regretted most was not seeing Haru come. Now, however, he’d made sure to watch Haru’s face every time. He’d memorized it, but it always felt new. Always.

Haru’s cock was slick against his lips when he finally pulled away that final layer. Haru’s cock twitched and his fingers held onto Makoto’s hair tighter and tighter. Makoto ground his hips harder and harder before he realized it’d hardly be enough.

“Haru,” he said, “Haru, I want—”

 _I want to feel you against me,_ he was going to say, but Haru already knew. Just like he always did. He nudged Makoto up with his legs and he didn’t mind when Makoto dove into his mouth again, sharing Haru’s own precum with him,  unzipping his own trousers so he could kick them off to the side of the bed. Haru reached for his briefs and pulled them down, tucking the waistband under his balls, pulling Makoto’s hips close so they met right in the middle, everything touching together.

Makoto moaned, grinding his hips at an angle to get the most out of it. He knew he sounded embarrassing but he hardly cared at the moment. He was with Haru, after all, and if he couldn’t be himself in front of Haru…

“Makoto,” Haru said again. His voice sounded choked, and his face looked so honest, eyebrows drawn together. He bit his bottom lip and Makoto bent down to bite it, too, prying it from his teeth with his tongue, sucking on his tongue. His free hand couldn’t stop moving. It kept running from Haru’s face to his chest to his stomach to his hips, before it closed around their dicks, somehow covering them both, squeezing and rubbing with the rhythm of their movement. Haru took a deep breath. “Makoto…”

“Ah,” Makoto said. He wanted to say something else, but he could hardly form any words at all. “Mm…Haru…wow…”

He had to close his eyes again. As much as he wanted to see everything, he had to stop because he was going to come too fast. But when he opened them again he saw that Haru was staring right at him, following his every movement, up and down, up and down, up and down.

“Are you going to come, Haru?” Makoto asked gently. Haru rolled his eyes, embarrassed. Then he nodded, bringing their clasped hands over his heart. He leaned down and kissed Makoto’s fingers, never breaking eye contact, biting Makoto’s knuckles as he came all over his stomach and Makoto’s hand.

Makoto wanted to laugh with joy, so happy, always so happy he could pleasure Haru like this. He shuddered, bending over and taking one of Haru’s nipples into his mouth, biting the tip and licking the whole of it. Maybe he bit a little too hard when he came, because the redness around it wasn’t fading after he drew back. But Haru wasn’t complaining—at least, he didn’t look angry about it.

Makoto collapsed on top of him, the mess between their bodies sliding over their stomachs, making them sticky.

“I’m tired,” Haru said, echoing his thoughts.

“Me too,” Makoto sighed, burying his face in Haru’s neck. “We’ll make udon another night. Let’s order a pizza.”

It was a little while before either of them moved. At least, it was long enough for the cum in between their bodies to dry, long enough for Makoto to think about something other than Haru, because Haru was right there underneath him, and real. So very real.

 

 


End file.
